Two Weeks
by Echo1317
Summary: For two weeks of the year, every year, for the past fifteen years, she loved him. Inspired by an episode of Bones Dramione


**A/N** This is short, really messy, and I don't like much how it turned out, but I wanted to put it up anyway cuz I like the _idea_ of it so much. I was watching Bones the other day, and there was this thing with Angela, how "every year for three weeks she has a boyfriend and a vacation", and there was some more stuff, and I just kind of went with it. Anyway, here's the crap-fest of a story:

* * *

For two weeks out of the year, every year, she loved him.

It started out innocently, both had happened to be on holiday at the same place at the same time, and they had spoken, for once without hostility, and had lunch. The next day, they had bumped into each other again, and then the day after that, and the day after that as well. For the next few days, the last remaining days of their vacations, they had met with each other, and she had hung off his arm, and the people of the little town had commented on how she glowed and how happy he seemed. They were no where near a couple before those two weeks, and they weren't when they left for their respective homes.

A year after their first meeting, they both returned to the tiny, costal town in Greece. They had once again chatted and walked about together, pretending for the sake of pretending that they were the lovers everyone expected that they were. In truth, they were nothing more than old friends, and back in the times that they had known each other, they hadn't been friends at all. But in the time that they were apart, they grew and they matured, and they could finally stand each other's presence, and even enjoy it. Once again, when it came time to part, they bade each other a happy farewell, even though each was miserable at the sight of the other leaving. He kissed her cheek, and she blushed furiously, wrapping her arms around him in a long overdue embrace- this time for the sake of emotion, not for pretending.

The years continued to pass, and the holidays continued; two weeks, once a year. They would act like a couple, one of the real couples, who only need each other to survive. If all else were to fail, it seemed, they would be the only ones left, and the people of the town came to call them as their own. After a while, the fake romantic interest they held for each other became something real- for one of them, at least.

Even after they parted, his mind continued to dwell on her. Her smile, her skin, her smell, her everything. For two weeks a year, she was all _his_, and those were always the best two weeks of his year. He knew, of course, that every time they went their separate ways, she went back to her boyfriend, the man she truly loved. He, on the other hand, went home to an empty flat, littered with last month's issues of the Prophet and empty bottles of milk. He would pass her in the hall at work, and they would share a polite smile, not acknowledging that they ever had any other interaction than just that. And then the holiday would come.

Perhaps, in the darkest reaches of her mind, saw that his affections were true. The subtle look of pure bliss in his eyes when he was sitting with her on the dock, the gentle way he held her like no one else ever had before, or the tender way he would whisper 'goodnight' as they drifted to sleep in the two-bed room that they always shared at the only local inn. She saw, but she couldn't reciprocate his feelings, so she acted as if she noticed nothing was going on. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do- to lead him on in a way that made him think that they might, conceivably, one day, have a future from those two weeks every year. But she continued on anyhow.

* * *

One year, too many years for him to fathom from the first two weeks, she was not there when he arrived. Instead, he found a letter at the front desk, addressed to himself, in her fine, neat penmanship. He took it upstairs, and with shaking hands, he opened the envelope and dumped the contents into his hand.

She was suddenly staring back at him; a man with garish red hair had his arm around her waist, and there was a small, shiny diamond on the third finger of her left hand. The moving photo was a clipping from the Daily Prophet, and underneath it was the announcement of the engagement of Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. There was a tiny note scribbled in the corner, and as Draco Malfoy read it, he felt tears well up in his eyes that he didn't bother to wipe away.

_Love always, Me_ it said, and he bitterly thought about the injustice behind the statement.

Because, for two weeks of the year, every year, for fifteen years, she loved him.

And for the rest of the fifty weeks of the year, every year, for the rest of his life, he loved her.

* * *

Review? Please? Thanks!

-Echo1317


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